


Open Your Eyes (or you might miss it)

by trainmango



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Based on Koreeda Hirokazu's After Life, Fantasy, Fluff, KaiSoo - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainmango/pseuds/trainmango
Summary: The afterlife just isn't what you would expect, and Jongin has too much to lose to move on.





	Open Your Eyes (or you might miss it)

Kim Jongin’s life starts with a gush of wind and the hair of his fringe tapping against the skin of his cheeks. The sky is grey overhead, the cracking and rustle of autumn leaves rolling at his feet a constant buzz in his ears until it all fades out. The sun is high up but hidden by a thin cover of clouds, only a pale halo visible far in the distance.

Facing him stands a building made of hard concrete, a shade slightly darker than the sky, tall and large and seemingly immeasurable if he looks to his right, then to his left. It seems to go on forever on both sides, bordered by the cemented pathway he’s standing on. There are no windows in sight, no doors, only rows of pipes running along the wall and puffs of light smoke escaping from the roof somewhere, where his eyes don’t reach.

He tugs back the sleeve of his denim jacket to reveal his watch; the hands have stopped moving, and the lens is obscured, the stain staying intact when he swipes his thumb over it.

6:23, it reads. His time of birth. Jongin thinks about the time before that, the time that existed even when he didn’t, moments he’ll never get to live. It makes him feel strange, uneasy, a little dizzy.

 _Don’t think about it_ he chastises himself. _Think about what’s to come.Think about what you should do._

He glances to his right, where a door has opened a few feet farther down the path. There’s nothing different when he turns his head to the other side, so he frowns and turns back, breathes out a sigh, and walks the steps separating him from the door.  
There’s nothing else to do, really. When he looks down to where he came from, the path goes on until it melts with the horizon, disappearing, and the concrete wall too. The white, white smoke lights up the sky in spots, and although there are no trees in sight, the leaves gather at the base of the wall, pushed over by the wind.

Jongin stands still for a while, until the movements of the leaves on the ground and the swirling of smoke appear to him like a video on loop, one second indiscernible from the other, like watching the wind create ripples on the surface of a lake. The dizziness comes back and he blinks hard, faces the dark hallway opening up before him, takes a step forward, then another.

A click echoes behind him with the door shutting close, the noises from outside fading like water down the drain, the air dry with silence surrounding him.  
He stops at the next door in his path, a sturdy wooden structure with a blurred glass window, the same ones you find in every dentist’s clinics and every school director’s offices. A metallic plate is screwed to the structure under the window opening, and Jongin thinks it should have some sort of label; a name, at least, or a door number, but it’s completely blank. The hallway ends there, leaving no option but to go on. He turns the knob and enters.

 

  
« Welcome! Come in, come in. You’re just a bit late, but let’s not fret over it. The previous resident left but a minute ago, so all the better. » A man sits comfortably in a wine red leather bound armchair, behind a standard office desk. The room is almost empty otherwise, save the two large cabinets lining the wall behind him, and a second door to his right. A folding chair faces the desk and the man gestures to it, eyebrows raising expectantly.

« Please, please, sit down. The sooner we get down to it, the sooner you’ll be out of here. Not that time is an issue, but you know… » The man says with a grin, waving his hand around as if to brush off his own words. Jongin doesn’t know. He sits carefully on the empty chair, removing his denim jacket and folding it on his lap.

« My name is Jongdae, and I’ll be your counsellor for the duration of your stay. You are… » The man shuffles through files and documents on his desk, then looks up to glance at Jongin, lips drawn in a line and eyebrows raised.

« Hum. Jongin. Kim Jongin. »

« Right. Kim… Kim… Ah! Kim Jongin. » The man, Jongdae, produces a file out of his mess. Jongin catches his picture stapled on the front before the man starts flipping through the pages. « Kim Jongin, born in Suncheon, South Korea, 1994. Died in Seoul, South Korea, 2017. Short life. Pity. » Jongdae’s eyes roam down the second page. « Time of death, 6:23pm. » Jongin glances down at his watch. 6:23, it still reads.

« Well, I suppose if you look at it this way, the shorter your life has been, the easier the process will be. All the better, I say! »

Jongin squirms in his seat. « I’m sorry but… the process for what, exactly? »

There’s a heavy pause settling there between them, Jongdae looking straight at him with a tight lipped smile, his hands crossed on the surface of his desk. He suddenly leans back in his chair, patting the armrests a few times and lifting his chin towards Jongin.

« It’s simple, Mr Kim. You died at 6:23pm in the year 2017 after Jesus Christ, Buddhist equivalent 2560, Islamic equivalent 1437, Year 29 Heisei, etcetera etcetera. And like everyone else, you are given three days to select one memory from your time on earth, only one memory which you will then carry with you on to the afterlife. »

Jongdae lifts a finger, as if to get his point across. « You have until Wednesday to find your most happiest memory, which will subsequently be recreated by our staff, filmed, and given to you as you pass on. As your counsellor, I will help you with anything I can. »

Jongin thinks he should probably feel scared, confused, or maybe sad, but he doesn’t feel anything. He’s just having trouble figuring out the meaning of Jongdae’s words, their gravity.

The look Jongdae gives him is serious but calm. He seems like he knows way too much, while Jongin doesn’t know anything. It’s annoying even if Jongdae probably doesn’t mean to. He’s a counsellor, after all. _He has to know_ , Jongin reasons.

« Don’t worry, Mr Kim; I will guide you through the steps. » He leans forward, his smile turning sideways into a smirk, once again knitting his fingers together on the pile of documents littering the desk.

« But first, you need to remember. »

__

  
Jongin wakes up on what he assumes is the following day, although he’s not exactly sure; he hasn’t been outside since he’s entered the building. There are no windows in the room, the walls painted white and the ceiling low, only a single bed and a small nightstand for his belongings have been pushed in a corner to accommodate him. The polished wood under his feet is cold, a hiss escaping his lips. He gets dressed rather quickly, patting down his hair to tame it, only to realize how out of place such a familiar action can become when you’re dead.

« A lot of things lose their importance once you die, Mr Kim. » Jongdae had told him. « You just gotta hold on to whichever important bit survives passing over. I know it may sound disarming, but some parts of you _did_ survive your death. They’re all in there. » He had pushed up a finger against his temple. « Well, technically, they’re everywhere in you, since you no longer have a physical body to contain your soul…but you get the gist. I’m gonna go along with the cliche and tell you they’re in your heart, too. » The man had grinned widely, an expression that hadn’t sat well with Jongin ever since the start.

« You’re dismissed now, my friend. We can start tomorrow, you must be very tired. »

« Dead people can get tired? » Jongin had wondered out loud, and Jongdae’s laugh had been short; it probably wasn’t his first time hearing it, and explaining the ropes of the afterlife to people like Jongin seemed like a rather repetitive job.

« Of course, Mr Kim. Exhaustion can come from the mind, too. Now, go rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow. »

Jongin had realized he indeed felt extremely tired. He’d pushed open the second door in Jongdae’s office, which had led him directly to his room. When he’d tried to reopen it, only to be met with an empty dark hallway, he’d decided best to follow Jongdae’s advice and sleep it off.

 

  
When he pushes on the door of his room this time, it’s Jongdae’s office waiting for him on the other side. He comes in from the exact same side he had the day before, finding the other man still sitting comfortably in his armchair, a smile still adorning his face.

« It’s easier when I keep one door for entry and one for exit. Less confusing. » Jongin doesn’t totally agree, but he guesses even these kind of places need some kind of logic, some kind of order.  
Jongin opted for leaving his jacket in his room, only putting on his jeans and white t-shirt, but when he finds himself sitting in front of Jongdae again, he vaguely regrets not having something to busy his hands with. It’s strange but he feels vulnerable, like he’s transparent.

« Let’s start from the beginning, then. The first step consists in remembering the strongest moments of your existence on Earth. This part's the most fun. »

« How do we do this? I can’t recall a thing. Yesterday I opened my eyes in the middle of nowhere and it felt like the first day of my life. Like I never knew anything before this instant. »

Jongdae doesn’t budge but lowers his eyes, wordlessly pointing out something in Jongin’s lap. « What time do you have, Mr Kim? »

« Oh, uh, it’s broken. Since yesterday, I don’t know. The hands don’t move anymore. » Jongdae’s laugh resonates on the walls around them. His confusion definitely seems to amuse the counsellor. _Great_ , he thinks. At least one of them is having fun. « I’m not asking you for the time, Mr Kim. Time is an abstract concept here, anyway. It’s barely even relevant. »

Jongin thinks about the three days limit. He thinks about himself being "late" to an appointment he had never agreed to. He thinks about all the contradictions coming out of Jongdae’s mouth and really, the more information he is given, the less he understands, but he doesn’t dare ask or voice out his thoughts. Every question out of his mouth is like a hydra and Jongdae keeps cutting its heads with a brush of the hand and a misplaced smirk. It makes Jongin slightly uneasy but at this point he can only listen and wait. So he does.

« Look at your watch, Mr Kim, » A beat passes, the man waiting for Jongin to comply. « of course it’s broken, but there is no coincidence in the position of the hands you see through the lens. 6:23, right? Your time of death, just as I read from your file yesterday when you first came in.

But there is more to it than what you think. » Jongin hears the sound of Jongdae’s voice but the meaning of the words comes together slowly, delayed, his mind desperately trying to catch up. « You’ll never know as you live, but barely anything in your existence is left to chance. It’s not my department so I don’t really know how it is done in details, but this is what I can tell you, and it is all you need to know; every single meaningful moment in your life happens at a certain time, and for you, it’s 6:23. Most people never notice because, often, they’re not aware they’re living something important, even if they’re right in the middle of it. You might not remember now, but that’s perfectly normal. Nobody remembers, at first, or at least not much, and this is why we’re here. »

Jongdae points back to his chest, a proud lilt to his lips. "we’re" he’d said. Jongin vaguely wonders if all the counsellors resemble his own, or if other people like him, ‘’residents’’, as Jongdae had called them, ended up with more luck, and perhaps they don’t feel as confused and empty as he’s been feeling since the whole thing had started. But he doesn’t ask, still, and waits for Jongdae to speak again.

« This won’t be as complicated as you think it is. We will simply go over these moments, don’t worry, it’ll all come back to you. Then, you get to choose your favorite one! »

Jongin really wants to say something this time, he wants to ask how this will work, if they have huge files about his life hidden somewhere, or maybe even video tapes? He wants to ask if it’ll hurt, or how long it’ll take, but Jongdae exclaims:

« Great, isn’t it? Let’s get started- »

And the counsellor lifts his arm so fast towards Jongin’s head he doesn’t even have time to flinch, and he doesn’t feel a thing when everything around them goes black.

  
__

  
_Mr Kim._

 

Jongin’s eyes snap open, but he has to blink out the blinding light of the early morning sun, his eyes watering. He brings his fingers to his face, shielding himself from the sting of the day through his eyelids. It takes him almost a minute to adjust, wiping his eyes with his thumb, nose scrunched up in discomfort.

The platform is empty; he looks at his watch absentmindedly. He looks again because the time didn’t even register in his head at first, his mind still wrapped in sleep. 6:20. Still ten minutes until the train arrives.

It’s too hot for that time of the day even if it’s the middle of summer; the air is humid and Jongin thinks that maybe it rained the previous night. His uniform shirt sticks to his back and arms, a drop of sweat running down his temple. He’s not even moving.

He thinks he hears a sound and he turns towards it; a voice, or something similar. A boy stands a few feet from him, back straight, and the same white shirt Jongin is wearing looks airy and light on him, it falls nicely over his shoulders, the sleeves rolled back messily to his elbows. He’s listening to his iPod, the earbuds in his ears hidden by dark hair, humming along to the song, eyes closed.

 _He probably didn’t see me_ , Jongin thinks. After a few seconds the boy doesn’t stop humming, instead his mouth opens and he starts singing, actually singing. Under his fringe his brows meet in a frown and he looks so concentrated, so serious, Jongin would’ve laughed, but he doesn’t because the boy’s voice is so beautiful, it goes deep and flows right through him, even more tangible than his own body. A shiver runs down his spine despite the heat.

Jongin doesn’t hear the song coming to its end in the boy’s ears, and even when he stops singing and opens his eyes Jongin doesn’t look away. Deep brown irises focus on him, pupils dilating. The boy’s eyes widen in shock and just like that, the moment is broken.

« Shit! » He rips the earbuds from his ears so fast the iPod is yanked out of his pants pocket and goes flying on the ground. « Fuck! I mean- » He fidgets with the cord of his earphones while trying to retrieve the device, inspecting it for scratches. « I’m sorry- Did you- H-How long have you been standing there? I just- »

This time Jongin does laugh, but he’s not sure why; there’s a strange sensation bubbling inside him, an impulse to smile at the other boy with all his strength, and he does. « Don’t worry, huh… you have a really good voice. » His hand comes up to rub at his nape and he feels the warmth and humidity of the air rush back into him so fast he feels a bit dizzy. The boy’s eyes widen even more, his ears turning so red it just can’t be normal. Then, he smiles, and the way his lips part and his cheeks rise slowly has another shiver running down Jongin’s neck.

« Oh… I mean, thanks… » He looks embarrassed and Jongin has to look away. He glances at his watch to distract himself. 6:24. It felt much longer, somehow. He’s wide awake but feels breathless, as if he’d just ran a mile, he can feel his heartbeat against his ribcage and his pulse on his wrists, sweat gathering on his forehead under his fringe sticking to his skin.

 

He wants to say something else, anything, but when he looks back up it’s Chanyeol running up to him in the hallway. His trousers are too short for his long legs, revealing his ankles, and his light brown frizzy hair looks kind of idiotic. Jongin doesn’t understand why he insists on keeping it like that if it gets him in trouble with the teachers all the time.

« Dude! Wait for me! Let’s go to private classes together for once! » He speeds up his steps while trying not to make it too obvious, yet Chanyeol reaches him easily. He leans his weight on Jongin, bony arm settling around his shoulders. « It’s already 6:15! Let’s grab some Ddeokbokki real quick first. I’ve been craving some for like, five days, I swear! Hey, did you check out that place I told you about- »

Every sound around Jongin seems to die down in the next second; Chanyeol’s voice is drowned out by the deafening sound of his blood pumping into his temples.

He watches-

_Kyungsoo_

 

-Kyungsoo turn the corner at the end of the hallway, but when Jongin thinks, hopes he’ll walk by them, the boy opens a door to his left and enters a classroom without even glancing his way. He regains his senses when Kyungsoo disappears and he sees Chanyeol looking at him weirdly, and Jongin wonders if he spoke his thoughts out loud.

« That Do Kyungsoo guy is so strange, right? He’s like, so shy, and he never talks to anyone ever, it’s like he hates everyone or something. » Chanyeol’s voice is too loud, as usual, characteristically not the type to care about what people think of him, but Jongin wishes he would, at least for now. He doesn’t have the courage to tell the tall boy to shut up. He never had the courage to do much, really, even if he knows the one thing he should be able to fight for with determination is Kyungsoo.

He just doesn’t know how.

The door to the classroom is still open when they walk past. Jongin can’t resist peeking in, and the vision burns itself into his retina, just Kyungsoo facing the large windows, his back to Jongin, amidst the empty rows of chairs and desks. The sky outside is still bright, but the sunlight is dim, sunset not too far ahead. Sparks of dust fly between them, and Jongin halts for a second to try and take in as much as he can, but doesn’t stop.

No, he does stop. He stops in the middle of the stairs on his way out, other students rushing and bumping shoulders and knees with him, Chanyeol who noticed a few seconds too late looks up at him expectantly.

« You coming? » Jongin doesn’t move.

« Hey, are you alright? » Chanyeol asks, impatient. Jongin turns around, climbing the steps two by two.

« Jongin! »

« I- I forgot something! Don’t wait for me! » And he says it barely loud enough for Chanyeol to hear, leaving him standing in the stairs, his too large body blocking the way, students still rushing out to their evening lessons or to simply go home.  
When Jongin finds the classroom Kyungsoo hasn’t moved an inch, and he closes the door behind himself, shutting out the noise.

The desks and chairs and blackboard disappear and it’s just them, with nothing in between to separate them, nothing to create the distance besides the few steps Jongin crushes under his feet.

Kyungsoo turns around. The sky outside reminds Jongin of the sky when they met, even though it’s totally different. It’s already fall now, the air is colder and the sun has started setting, but all skies remind him of Kyungsoo, like everything else. He’s still a teenager but love can’t possibly be anything else.

 

_What about this one, Mr Kim?_

 

Jongin looks back towards the voice, but nobody’s looking at him, students rushing out of the school eagerly towards the promising summer break. Graduation makes his heart lighter and his head stronger, he clutches his diploma with shaking fingers and inhales, exhales, inhales until he feels makeshift courage spread through his nerves.

Adrenaline makes his surroundings blur, he thinks he might faint from his heart beating so hard, but he knows he’d never back out from this. He watches Kyungsoo’s retreating back stand out in the crowd, and he knows, he knows this is it.

« Do Kyungsoo! » He tries to shout over the blow of the wind and the excited chatter of the students. Some of them glance his way but nothing more. He falters a bit still, nervous. Nervous. Too nervous. He has to block it out; focus; focus; don’t stop.

« Kyungsoo! » The boy stops walking, flinching a bit, and turns around. He seems scared, Jongin thinks, and it terrifies him. He never wants to scare Kyungsoo again.

« I love you, Do Kyungsoo! » He screams it at the top of his lungs, he’s never even screamed that loud before. He doesn’t really need to for Kyungsoo to hear him, but if he doesn’t he fears the other boy might notice his voice breaking from the terror enveloping him. He tries not to look at his classmates that _have_ stopped walking this time. They’re looking at him, but Kyungsoo’s looking at him too and it’s all that matters.

« I want to see you every second of my life! I want to kiss you and hold your hand and listen to you talking about boring shit just because I love you! I never want to lie about how you make me feel ever again! I want everyone to know how I feel because if there’s one fucking thing I know about myself, it’s this! And if later on the only thing people can remember about me is my love for you, then I know I’ll have lived well! »

Kyungsoo hasn’t moved. Jongin catches his breath, the warm summer air making his lungs burn and his throat dry.

  
_I told you, didn’t I? Check the time, now._

 

Jongin looks down at his watch, it’s not the right moment for that but something urges him to. 6:22. It almost means something but not really, or not yet.

Then it does, when a body crashes into him with so much force he has to take a step back to steady himself; it does when arms wind up around his neck, and his own arms cross behind the other boy’s back and squeeze so hard, lifting the warm body pressed against him until Kyungsoo’s feet don’t even touch the ground anymore.

The only sound in his ears is Kyungsoo’s laughter exploding around them, melted into his name again and again and again.

« JonginJonginJonginJonginJonginJongin » And he forgets how to breathe, and the words fail him.

« _Kyungsoo_  » He’s laughing a bit too, trying to catch his breath in between. The weight in his arms makes him topple over, and the next moment he’s falling on his back.

He shuts his eyes in expectation of the impact, his arms and legs convulsing when he feels his body colliding with the ground, his heart skipping a beat.

 

  
The shock forces his eyes open, his fingers rapidly curling into the white bedsheets. He’s greeted by the white ceiling, the white walls, the white curtains blocking out the first rays of the weekend sun. His heartbeat gradually slows down to its regular rhythm, and he exhales heavily, relief washing over him silently. He shifts on his side, eyes landing on a bare shoulder emerging from the blanket, gliding over the planes of a man’s neck, dark eyelashes, full lips parted. Sleepy huffs leave the man’s mouth slowly, but he is otherwise immobile. Jongin looks over the body curled beside him; the clock on the nightstand indicates 6:19, a single ray of light piercing through a small opening in the curtains, landing directly on the man’s face.

He’s known Kyungsoo for a few years now, and has woken up next to him almost every day for a little over a year, after Jongin had finally convinced him that despite their young age, they could build a life of their own, after assuring him that wherever they’d go would be home if they could be together. They could make anything work.

Jongin has woken up almost every day to Kyungsoo’s warmth enveloping him, yet in this moment, a moment that should not be out of the ordinary, he feels his heart constrict, then expand and expand and something lodges into his throat as he looks at Kyungsoo sleeping in their bed, his black hair tousled over white and white and white that Kyungsoo had chosen for their bedroom. It helped bring out Jongin’s complexion, he’d said.

Jongin feels breathless, his fingers brushing the skin of Kyungsoo’s thighs under the comforter and up, sliding over his hips and lacing around his waist. He presses closer, closer to rest his forearm against the man’s back. Kyungsoo hums deeply, shuffling closer as well until their chests touch and Kyungsoo has his hands on Jongin’s cheeks. His eyes are still closed but he frowns a little, a sigh escaping him to land on Jongin’s lips.

When Kyungsoo opens his eyes the whole world awakens with him, it seems like the sun shines a bit brighter and it feels a bit warmer on their skin. He smiles faintly and Jongin’s heart that hadn’t stopped expanding and expanding suddenly stops, his heartbeat stuttering and his breath catching inside his lungs.

Kyungsoo rubs Jongin’s cheeks softly, the pads of his fingers brushing his temple and over his eyebrows then up to thread into his hair, pushing his fringe back. His frown deepens only a fraction but Jongin catches it like he catches all of Kyungsoo’s being every second of his life, or at least tries to.

« Jongin? What’s wrong? » His voice is tainted with worry and Jongin only understands the reason when he senses the cold and the wetness of tears leaving the corner of his eyes, one rolling down the side of his face to rest on the bridge of his nose, the other quickly smudged away by Kyungsoo’s thumb. It’s as if he’d been watching himself from above and had been yanked back down and into his own body; he notices then how hard he is breathing, and his head hurts, it’s all just too much, it’s overwhelming.

Kyungsoo presses his thumbs so lightly, barely there, across Jongin’s bottom eyelids, to erase the few tears spilling from his eyes.

« Shhh Jongin, it’s okay. Hey, hey, it’s alright. » And he smiles again, wider so the corner of his lips press to his cheeks into a heart. It’s the most beautiful thing Jongin’s ever seen.

« Why are you crying? » the man asks, voice deep from sleep. It’s still early and they’d gone to bed late the night before.

Jongin takes a long inhale and exhales shakily to calm himself down.

« You’re so beautiful. Kyungsoo. I love you so much. » And he winces when his voice cracks and he chokes on air from breathing too fast. He feels so stupid. There are absolutely no reasons to cry whatsoever, but he finds it hard to stop nonetheless.

Kyungsoo erases the distance between them as he does so well, pressing his lips to the side of Jongin’s nose, to his cheek, then to his lips. He continues threading his fingers softly through Jongin’s hair, and Jongin’s arm tightly pressed against a bare back tentatively loosens, his fingers pressing against skin to stop the shaking, feeling, memorizing, remembering. When Kyungsoo leans back a few inches, the side of his face resting against the white of the pillow, he is still smiling, and he closes his eyes with another sigh. He looks happy.

Jongin’s not crying anymore, thankfully, but there’s a weight under his sternum that doesn’t want to go away.

« I love you, Jongin. » Kyungsoo says, voice as clear as the day filtering through the curtains like rivers, sunlight reaching for Kyungsoo’s skin, illuminating his body in golden and silver spots. Jongin is the sun, extending his arms around Kyungsoo’s frame, warming him up, making all the shadows on him disappear. His fingers trace every surface of the other’s skin he can reach, and he feels lips on his like a mirror.

The skin of Kyungsoo’s thighs presses against his sides and he feels the muscles tighten when the man’s legs straddle him, the touch of the other’s stomach firm and warm against his own. Jongin’s hands slide from shoulder-blades down the bumps of Kyungsoo’s spine, slowly, mapping out the curves of his back over and over again, reaching lower, over his ass, and down his inner thighs. Kyungsoo gasps at the touch, his breath mixing with Jongin’s hotly, their noses brushing once or twice before Jongin has to lean up and connect their lips again. It’s slow and heavy, heat rising between their bodies just with the thought of the other one there, just with the languid touch of tongues and fingers so easy, clothes already removed hours and hours prior.

Jongin feels the weight in his chest tighten, squeezing his eyes shut from how lightheaded he is, trying to focus and control his heavy breathing. He fumbles blindly with the cap of a small bottle, scraping his nails to snap it open quickly. He hears Kyungsoo pant softly over him, hears the whine turn into a low moan, so beautiful out of Kyungsoo’s mouth when his fingers travel back up firm thighs to rest on Kyungsoo’s ass, pressing him closer, pushing one finger in the other man, then a second.

With his eyes closed, he smells and hears and feels everything so intensely he could pass out, his senses so overwhelmed it quickly becomes too much for him to keep track of, despite how hard he tries to register every sound Kyungsoo makes and every places their skin touch. Jongin opens his eyes when the phosphenes behind his eyelids begin to flash harshly, and Kyungsoo’s face is so close, their gaze locking instantly, so naturally.

« You can… » Kyungsoo says, sentence cut short by a gasp, but Jongin understands and shifts a bit, adding a third finger, concentrating on the softness of Kyungsoo’s chest and stomach rubbing faintly against his own from how the boy moves over him, on how the muscles of his calves clench, his legs shaking a little on either side of Jongin’s body. He looks up towards Kyungsoo’s face, his full lips parted, a few strands of hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, the contours of his jaw shining from how the sunlight hits him just right.

« Kyungsoo- » And they kiss.

« You’re so- » Again.

« You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe it- » His voice is breathy and choked but when they part after yet another kiss Kyungsoo is smiling so brightly through his exhaustion, a short laugh resonating around them. Everything Jongin says is always worth it in the end.

Kyungsoo then straightens himself, fingers slowly lifting from the bedsheets, sliding over Jongin’s shoulders, collarbones, chest. He rests his palms on Jongin’s lower abdomen, and Jongin removes his fingers to place his hands around the boy’s waist, tight, thumbs drawing shapes on his stomach. Everything happens so slowly, the seconds weighing on them, the air too warm, the atmosphere too heavy. Kyungsoo lifts himself in slow motion, dust particles like embers floating around him; the weight of his hands on Jongin seems to increase, knees pressing further into his ribs.

The world almost halts as Kyungsoo lowers himself, a sob drawing a shiver out of his body, his legs almost giving out if not for Jongin’s warm hands still holding him, supporting his weight with a grip maybe too tight. Jongin has to close his eyes again, just for a second, just to anchor himself to reality better and focus on his breathing. They synchronize so well without meaning to, moaning each other’s name when Jongin is finally fully inside Kyungsoo, the other man trembling on top of him, his nails scratching down Jongin’s stomach harshly.

They stay still for a minute or two, and then, still synchronized, they move against each other; Kyungsoo rolls his hips down just as Jongin arches his back and lifts his own, and it feels so good it hurts. He forces himself to keep his eyes open this time, watching Kyungsoo move so gracefully, so impossibly ethereal, so surreal he can only convince himself he’s not dreaming from how much he’s feeling, pain and pleasure so closely intertwined, one becomes the other.

After a while, Jongin feels Kyungsoo getting tired from the position, the muscles in his arms tight, veins apparent on his forearms and fading over his hands. He feels the man’s legs tremble from the strain of having to lift himself repeatedly, but they look at each other and move their bodies in tune once more, in perfect understanding, not a word uttered between them. Without breaking the connection, Kyungsoo’s back hits the mattress gently, arching with a heavy exhale when Jongin fits his palm right at the bottom of the man’s spine to lift him, feeling the press of thighs around his waist and heels digging into his back. He keeps Kyungsoo close like that, one hand there on his side and the other supporting their weight on the bed. When Kyungsoo tries to lift his head slightly, Jongin, in return, bends down further and they kiss sweetly, softly, teeth biting into the other’s lips gently.

It’s still slow, but the angle makes it heavier, his nerve endings prickling from the stimulations overwhelming his senses. As he pulls back almost completely and thrusts back with enough strength that it drags Kyungsoo’s body on the bed an inch or two with the force of it, thick eyebrows furrow and dark eyelashes flutter close on the man's cheeks, his mouth open in a soundless moan that gets lost in Jongin’s mouth. He hisses at the nails digging into his nape and dragging down his back, but Kyungsoo must have noticed because his hands smooth gently over the marks to rest at the back of Jongin’s head, gripping lightly into his hair.

The tension builds up and over until it’s almost unbearable, seeping into Jongin’s veins and coiling heavy into his guts, lightheadedness from his labored breathing getting to him. He rests his forehead against the pillow, his cheek against Kyungsoo’s temple. This way, he discerns the airy whispers of his name over and over out of Kyungsoo’s mouth, otherwise inaudible amongst the gasps and pants and drawn-out sighs. His name has never sounded better than it does in this instant, whispered so low, so quietly he couldn’t even call it his own, as if Kyungsoo wanted to keep it for himself only, and the thought of it draws out tears again, almost. He could abandon his name to this man with a glance or a single word, and it wouldn’t matter, he thinks, because he’d already given him everything with that first glance and word under the scorching summer sun, their future still unknown, yet he could already see it so, so clearly into the panicked eyes of the boy as they locked gaze for the first time.

He was laughing then, unaware, yet it felt like coming home, like everything he’d done in his life had converged into the moment they’d met on the train platform, so early in the day nobody would believe something so incredible could happen then, and maybe it’s one of the reasons it had. And as the boy had put his iPod back into his pocket, not bothering to neatly roll the earphones like he usually did, and they’d stood beside each other, looking at each other from their peripheral vision, both hoped to all the higher forces they’d never believed in until now for this moment to never end, for the train to be delayed, for time to slow down even a fraction, because even a second more for them would be somehow enough. Down the slope of the boy’s nose Jongin saw discreet touches, palms brushing, shared smiles; over the curve of his cheek there were tentative kisses and exchanged words; into light brown irises he could see his fingers through the other boy’s hair, then their fingers intertwined, their legs tangled. He was clueless still, the two having met only for a few too short minutes, yet in the back of his mind their future was already a sure thing, almost like it had already happened.  
He felt that from this moment onwards it wouldn’t be his future but theirs, always theirs.

Just when his vision starts getting blurry, Kyungsoo’s fingers pull on his hair gently to align their faces again, then reach down to cup his cheeks as they kiss, lazily, tongues barely touching. When they part, Kyungsoo looks into him as if he couldn’t possibly want anything else, or anything more.

« You’re my world, » He says so naturally, as if it is the most obvious thing he could possibly tell Jongin.

« I love you, Jongin. » He would always say it like that, with his name at the end, transforming the words into an unbreakable spell. It’s his way of assuring Jongin he would never be able to say them to anyone else, that love could never come without him.

He wants to answer, but as he opens his mouth his vision whites out and he chokes on the words, pleasure coursing through him like lightning. Kyungsoo tightens around him, and he can only swallow the loud moan Kyungsoo lets out as he bites down on Jongin’s lower lip. It takes him long seconds to regain his senses, the phosphenes dissipating gradually and his breathing slowing down with each in and exhaling. Still holding himself up with his forearm, he shifts towards the bedside table for a few tissues, wiping over the other boy’s chest and stomach quickly, then between pale thighs. Jongin feels the shiver that shakes Kyungsoo’s entire form when his fingers press into too sensitive skin. There’s a quiet whimper as he rubs his hands over Kyungsoo’s inner-thighs after throwing the tissues on the floor carelessly. Kyungsoo reaches between them and grips his wrist loosely, too exhausted to put real force in it. « Stop it. » His tone is reprimanding but soft, still affectionate, ankles still linked in the bend of Jongin’s lower back, although the hold is loose there too.

« I’m too tired to do it again. » Kyungsoo says, his feet falling back on the bed in a thud, but his arms pull at Jongin’s shoulders until he has to succumb to the weight, his own arms giving out under him.

  
Jongin lays there, head tucked under Kyungsoo’s chin, with the man’s hands gently petting his hair. He closes his eyes and focuses on the faint ups and downs of Kyungsoo’s chest when he breathes, perfectly in tune with his own. The sun has risen higher now, the curtains not enough to shield them from its warmth; he knows they can’t possibly stay in bed all day. Eventually, they’ll have to push the heavy blanket back and go out into the world, but the moment hasn’t ended yet. He’s still laying on top of Kyungsoo, their legs tangled under the sheets and toes teasingly rubbing at each other’s ankles, the sunlight catching highlights in their hair, so he likes to think he can make this instant last forever if he just continues to add up the seconds.

 

_Ah, there we go._

 

« Mmh? » The voice fades slowly, sounding farther and farther as he struggles to open his eyes. A hand comes to rub his back, the warmth so comforting, _this is home_ , he thinks. This is home. His neck is sore from having dozed off on the couch, his tv show having long ended and transitioned to something boring, the volume low, voices and laughter fading in a quiet buzz. Lips press to his temple, then behind his ear, then to his cheek.

« Jongin. »

He shifts on his back and looks up at Kyungsoo standing beside the couch, dressed in his boxers and one of Jongin’s old t-shirts, a cheap present he’d received from a charity event he’d been obliged to attend with his dance group, back in high school. The design is ugly and Jongin never wore it, but Kyungsoo likes to wear it indoors, somehow. His hair is messy and his glasses have slid down his nose. He looks exhausted.

« You look beautiful. »

Kyungsoo sighs but smiles brightly nonetheless. « Why are you trying to flirt, dumbass? You literally just woke up. »

« I just wanted to tell you. »

« If you say so. Do you think you can run to C.U and grab some ramyeon for tonight? I’m too tired to cook. » He pushes his glasses up with his knuckle, scrunching his nose. « I have this report to finish and I have to send it in tonight before 10 and it’s already 6:15- »

« Sure. »

He doesn’t express it in words, but Jongin sees the gratitude on the boy’s face, his expression relaxing.

« Don’t worry. I’ll go. » Jongin says with a smile.

Kyungsoo hums, sniffs once, twice, and nods. « Okay. »

Jongin gets up resolutely, and, too lazy to change or even put on his shoes, just puts on his indoor slippers and leaves in his sweatpants. It’s just a two minutes walk, anyway.

In the elevator, he inspects the inside of his wallet, and decides he’ll get a two-pack of hard boiled eggs just for Kyungsoo with the extra money he has left on his T-Card.

The C.U is one street down on the other side of the road. He contemplates just going to the Seven Eleven next to their apartment building, but he knows Kyungsoo sent him to C.U because Seven Eleven doesn’t have his favorite ramyeon brand. He sighs, almost giving in to his laziness, thinking he can surely get away with a flimsy excuse. He hesitates at the crossroad, when he recalls Kyungsoo’s tired eyes and tone and how he’d rolled his shoulders to ease the sore muscles, preparing to sit back down with his textbooks for another few hours.

 _Okay, okay. Alright._ He makes up his mind right when the pedestrian sign is about to change. He goes for it anyway, jogging half-heartedly just to not be too annoying to the two cars waiting at the intersection, when a delivery scooter does a sharp turn and rushes past him, avoiding the collision by barely an inch.

 _What the fuck._ He doesn’t even have the reflex to shout at the careless driver, too shaken up to react properly. Still looking down the road where the scooter made another tight turn and disappeared, he frowns, cursing under his breath.

He doesn’t even have the luxury to understand what happens when he takes a step forward and a speeding taxi hits him head-on. His head bounces off the hood of the car and hits the concrete with unforgiving force.

  
__

  
When it is supposed to, somewhere, a door leads to a wide, fully equipped studio. Assigned staff runs about, carrying props, cameras, piles of clothes carefully slipped into plastic sheets. The people in charge give directions where they have to, crafting slowly fading memories into an indelible trace of what they once were. When it is supposed to, sometimes, the door opens wide onto the outside, where an interchangeable crew affairs itself to the same task. Cameras are passed around, figures moving around foldable chairs, fans, lighting equipment. It is all very grand, yet the touch of unreal lingers.  
The setting is never the same. Jongin has seen it the first time only some thirty hours or so after his own watch had stopped. He found himself in a small garden, observing as the cameras focused on an old, old man sitting on a rusted iron bench. A young woman in an extravagant blonde wig sat beside him, dressed up in mock clothing from a forgotten era. The staff fussed around the scene, every element in its place in such a calculated way it couldn't have looked more off to Jongin. Nothing ever exists purposefully, he'd thought then. It all just comes together somehow and you're left to make the most of it.

He had watched the cameras roll, the woman reaching out for the pale, dry hand of the old man, as a bag full of cherry blossom petals had been emptied behind them from off-screen.

« He arrived a few hours before you. » Jongdae had said from behind him. From where he'd come Jongin didn't know. He could've very well been there from the very start. « It didn't take him very long to choose. I was told he was a pretty easy-going case. »

Jongin saw the old man smile, happy and at rest, yet his eyes seemed distant, looking far, far into himself as he met the woman's wide eyes.  
« Cut! » A loud voice had shouted. The woman stood up without a second look for the man, removing the wig in one swift motion. Jongin thought he could still see the man's smile and his far, far away eyes even after the light had been turned off.

« I won't choose. » Jongin had declared the day after, standing straight, jaw set, in Jongdae's office. « I'll never choose. »

__

  
_Time is an abstract concept here, Mr Kim._

Jongin starts to understand what it means. It's not that time does not exist beyond life, but it is, really, just that. Abstract. It bends and curves and even melts through your fingers, it exists just because it has to, without purpose.

The next time Jongin gets out of bed he feels calm, rested.

The memories recovered from his life are already blurry, unclear, bits and pieces stitching onto one another in his mind as he tries to hang on to any insignificant detail before it fades away. A toy from his childhood, the color of a friend's sweater, the smell of his father's aftershave; the name of his niece, whom he wishes he could've known longer. There are more vivid ones too, as if they were unfolding before his own eyes, bared for him to discover. The contour of Kyungsoo's profile as they met that summer day; the color of his cheeks when Jongin finally spoke to him at school; the taste of his lips as they kissed for the first time, two boys in love over their heads. There's the pain, lodged in his chest as if he still had a beating heart to feel it, the image of bruises and dried blood staining Kyungsoo's collar after class in the fall. The bitterness of hidden touches and then the sweetness of open ones. The smell of Kyungsoo's skin and the sound of his voice, as if he was still there, or rather, as if Jongin was.

He can still recall most of it, but soon even those memories start to get eaten by moths until all the garnish is gone and only their general shape remain. Jongin isn't sure if most of his memories are real or actually part of dreams.

 

He lies in his small bed and closes his eyes. Suddenly the air is heavier, the humidity clinging to his skin. Everything around him is white, and it smells like home, like love. He feels something nudge at him and breathy, muffled laughter bellow the covers. His favorite. A figure emerges, hair tousled from the weight of the blanket.

« What the hell, Jongin, you almost kneed me in the face down there! »

Kyungsoo's scowling at him. _Holy shit_ Jongin thinks, and his face might betray his thoughts. _I love him. I want to grow old with him. Oh my god._

« Isn't it nice that we get to sleep in the same bed from now on? » He says instead. « Now I can hold you to sleep and see your face first thing in the morning. I'm excited to be honest! » Kyungsoo crawls up until his chin rests on Jongin's chest, pillowed by his arms.

« What the hell Jongin, » Kyungsoo laughs, slapping his shoulder, « that's so fucking gay! »

« You just sucked my dick! » He cries in mock indignation, trying to push Kyungsoo off. « How can you say that? » They laugh and laugh and kiss each other in between. It feels like the rest of his life.

Jongin opens his eyes to silence, but the laughter isn't so far away. They could've grown old together, it would've been so simple.

How could he ever choose one memory to leave with? How could he give this up when his memories of Kyungsoo are all he has left?

 

Eventually, Jongin gets his first resident. He's not sure which day of the week it is anymore. Jongdae stands behind him like a shadow, posture straight and hands linked behind his back while Jongin sits there, waiting.

The resident is an old woman with dark, dark skin and dark eyes. She opens the door facing the desk slowly, trembling on her thin legs.

« Take out her file » Jongdae says, commanding, serious. It sounds strange.

The woman died at 93 years old in 1934, Nigeria. _1934_ Jongin thinks, breath short. _Nigeria._

She sits, and after Jongdae takes care of the explanation in a calm voice, he puts his palm firm on Jongin's shoulder.

« Now, hold out your hand, Mr Kim » He says.

  
__

  
Every day, Jongin wakes up between life and death, under a wide, blank sky (or is it, perhaps, the ceiling of his room?), and he thinks of Kyungsoo. As he opens the door to an empty office and waits for another Jongin to appear in front of him, another one just as lost as him, another soul ready to pass on, he thinks of Kyungsoo, of his warm skin, of his clear eyes and his full, soft lips. Residents sit in front of him, and then they're gone, one after the other. Slowly, quietly, he stops keeping track of the numbers. It becomes part of him, something he does without thinking, greeting strangers, guiding them, escorting them out, so much so that it seems unreal when he imagines himself in their position, how he'd sat confused on the foldable chair and how Jongdae's voice had echoed in his head. It's his own voice ricocheted off the walls now, his own plastered smile, his skin fading into the color of the walls, as if his own body was disappearing.

And every night, even though he never sees the sun setting, when Jongin goes back to sleep, his last thought is of Kyungsoo, of the tickle of his fingers on his stomach, of his deep, deep voice whispering in the night before his eyes fall shut and another day is gone.  
He's glad he was allowed to keep that much. The faces have become hazy, blurred by a veil of fog, but he remembers the feelings, the ache in his heart, the weightlessness spreading through his limbs until he thought he could literally leap into the sky. There is a small hope, lodged deep in the back of his mind, that he'll experience this feeling again. In the morning, he settles in his chair, squinting at the sunlight pasting itself on his face and on the office walls around him. There's no window and no blinds to shut, but he's gotten used to things existing differently here, without rules to bind them. He's just waiting.

__

  
« You're late again » He hears Jongdae's snicker before he sees the mischievous grin on the counsellor's face.

« I thought I was done supervising filmings. It's not my department, remember? Nor is it yours, for that matter. What are we doing here? » It's early just because it feels like it is, he feels drained and his limbs are heavy. Jongdae's smile is unwavering.

« Where's camera number two? We're ready to go for fuck's sake! » The man yells, and a member of staff runs off down the corridor, disappearing in the darkness. They walk at a brisk pace down the opposite way, until Jongdae stops abruptly and grabs his forearm, the grip a little too tight. « It's here, Jongin. Let's go. » He says with urgency in his tone, although the grin remains on his lips. A door is blocking their path and Jongdae opens it, Jongin following suit. « Sound tech get ready! » Jongin hears behind him, and when he steps through the door the sun blinds him for a moment.

« Camera three step back and get the wide angles. »

« Jongdae? Where's- » Silence. He turns around but no one's behind him. He's standing on a sidewalk, the warm wind threading his hair and howling lowly in his ears. His surroundings are quiet, a car passing by once in a while, the faint sounds of the city far, far away. There's no wooden door in sight and he is undeniably alone.

« Feels weird to be wearing my school uniform again. Can't believe they had exactly my size. » It's the voice. The _only_ voice. He remembers now.

The tinkle of a bell resounds and the door of a convenience store opens. A boy steps out, his hair dark and short, a bit too short maybe. He'd just gotten a haircut, Jongin remembers. They were young but it made the boy look older, almost like the man he would later become. Jongin had teased him for it but he secretly loved it (of course).

« Sure you didn't want anything? » The boys says, opening a can of Coke and taking a sip. Jongin shakes his head, still confused, his mind between two worlds, the rapid pump of his heart in his chest unfamiliar. He doesn't know what to _say_.

« Kyungsoo? » He tries.

« Mmh? » The boy's cheeks are round and flushed from the sun, and Jongin can't look away. He hasn't felt like this in so long, surely, even though it could've been merely hours. He remembers what it was like, to feel this way for his friend. It was terrifying because he knew he couldn't do anything about it. His feelings for the boy were unavoidable, and all he could do was let them wash over him.

He slings an arm over the boy's shoulders, kissing him on the temple slowly, remembering the feeling of the boy's skin under his lips, his scent, the touch of a hand coming to grip his uniform shirt tightly in shock. He lingers there, wanting to make this moment last. « I like you so much, » He says, as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times. His own voice is the same, and the look the boy gives him when they part is the same, too.

« Me too. I like you, Jongin. » The boy replies easily. It was the first time of many he'd say it, the "unbreakable spell". The first version, before it really became love. Their fingers interlace naturally and the boy leans up, kissing his cheek slightly to the side, near Jongin's mouth, lingering too. The street is still empty, so they stay that way a bit longer. Jongin's still fucking terrified but he knows it's not from the boy, it's these emotions he can't escape no matter what. It's hard being swept up by something you can't control. They walk slowly down the street, and nothing has changed, simply because Jongin knows it was there from the very beginning.

« So this is the memory you chose? » Jongin asks. « When I confessed? » He's not surprised, he would've probably chosen the same one, if he hadn't tried to hold onto every single one of them.

The boy looks straight into him, lips trapped between full cheeks in a smile, and answers « No, Jongin. You chose. It's a good one though. Probably my favorite. » Jongin looks down at his watch and the stain has disappeared.

« Cut! » Jongdae yells over the loud thumping of his heart in his ears. « That was good! Took longer than expected, but great job everyone! Let's wrap this up! »

The sun is bright, bright, bright, bright. 6:23, his watch tells him. It's finally Wednesday.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Something short I wrote on and off over the course of two years. The concept is based off Koreeda Hirokazu's movie _After Life_ or _Wonderful Life_ in japanese.
> 
> It's pretty much like my thoughts just thrown out there unorganized (what's new?) so sorry if the pacing seems weird.
> 
> In other news, korean delivery scooters are assholes.
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kocha__b)  
> 


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